


Leave Me On The Mountain

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Point in Time, Fluff, Hermit Steve Rogers, Loneliness, M/M, Mention of Character Death, enemies to friends (kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is certain that he's about to die, cold and lost in this mountain forest. But just as he thinks that the wolves have him, someone finds him and takes him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me On The Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in a kind of ambiguous point in time - I'll let you make up your mind as to when it is!

It was too cold.

Bucky could feel his body shutting down with each step he attempted to take through the deep snow, trying his best to make his way through the trees but he was losing energy fast and the light was fading. He knew he couldn't last much longer, especially come nightfall. He couldn't run anymore; he could hear the wolves not far behind him and where there had been fear before, now there was just a numb blankness and a grim, sad acceptance. He thought about his father and his mother. He thought about Becca and how happy she had been with the new ribbons he had bought for her hair.

The wind and sleet stung Bucky's face, sticking to his eyelashes, making it hard to see. He slumped into the snow and tried to look around for a branch or a rock or anything he could use for a weapon but the blizzard was too fierce. He glanced behind him and wished that he hadn't - three huge Timber Wolves were stalking through the snow towards him, obviously sensing that he was weakened. Bucky whimpered - even with two arms he wouldn't have been able to stave them off for long. He didn't think he could get back up. He was so tired. He had been walking through the snow for hours, lost and alone and now this was it. He hoped he would pass out before the wolves started to...please God, let him pass out.

Bucky lay his head on the freezing snow beneath him and his vision started to blur. He heard branches snapping somewhere behind him - another wolf maybe, come to join the others and then everything went white.

***

It was too hot.

Bucky groaned and his throat was dry and sore. He was burning up. It had to be some kind of trick - he was still laying in the snow waiting for the wolves to kill him and the cold had turned to burning. He tried to move but his right leg was a knot of agony.

"Don't," a stern voice said, muffled through the fog in Bucky's head. "Try not to move."

Bucky frowned. He wasn't outside anymore. Had he been found? Had his father found him? That didn't sound like his father though. "Who..." He coughed violently before the fire washed over him again and he tumbled back into a restless burning sleep.

***

When Bucky awoke again, he was still hot but his vision was less clouded. He opened his eyes and gathered his thoughts, blinking. He was in a house. A cabin, maybe, staring up at wooden beams, a faint smoky smell in the air. He was in a bed, under thick scratchy blankets. The cabin was dark save for an oil lamp somewhere off to his right. The bed he was in was against the wall and he could still hear the blizzard raging outside. How long had he been here? Bucky tried to move but his leg flared in pain and he cried out; he could feel the sweat from the fever that had a hold of him running down his face.

"I told you not to move." It was the stern, deep voice from before.

Bucky turned his head. He _was_ in a cabin - a one room affair with a bed, a woodstove and some odd pieces of furniture arranged around a sturdy table. There were some bookcases against a couple of the log walls and a rifle leaning against the door. A man was getting up from the table, tall with blond hair and a rough beard. He didn't look to be that much older than Bucky himself although it was hard to tell. He picked up a small basin and a cloth from the table.

"You need to rest," the man said and wiped Bucky's face with the cloth. It was freezing and Bucky realized that there was snow in the bowl. "Moving will make your leg worse." He sounded put out and when Bucky looked up at him he was met with a glare from two angry blue eyes.

Bucky groaned again and the man picked up a chip of snow and held it to Bucky's mouth. "Here, this will help your throat."

Bucky took the snow and chewed it carefully, savoring the coolness as it slid down his throat, relieving the burning a little. "What..." he tried but started to cough again.

The man scowled. "Just try to rest. Looks like you'll be here for a while." He stared at Bucky resentfully for a moment before giving him another chip of snow. Then he walked away to the table again. Bucky wanted to ask him where he was but he could feel sleep taking him over, whether he wanted it to or not.

***

He was with his father in the woods. It was cold and sunny and they were tracking a wounded elk through the snow, the trail of blood easy to follow. Bucky was happy; they had a fine house down in the town and things were finally starting to go their way. His mother and Becca were happy and he was beginning to move on from the accident. He followed close behind his father, his gun crooked in his elbow, breathing in the crisp mountain air. He was glad they had moved here.

It darkened suddenly - snow clouds were moving in and it was no longer sunny and bright in the forest. Bucky looked up, concerned. It wouldn't be good if they got caught in a blizzard out here. They should forget the elk and head back. He tried to call to his father but he had gotten ahead of Bucky, still walking on through the trees. Bucky hurried to catch up, the sky darkening with each step. He tried to shout out but every time he opened his mouth, the words were swallowed up by a strange howling wind. He panicked and started to run. He finally reached his father and put a hand on his shoulder, about to tell him that they should leave but when he turned around instead of a man it was a huge, snarling Timber Wolf.

Bucky jerked awake with a start, crying out from the pain in his leg. He rolled to his side and screamed - he was still in his dream. He had to be. Less than a couple of feet away from him was a wolf, huge and grey with amber eyes. Bucky scrabbled in the bed and pressed himself against the cabin wall. The wolf chuffed at him and the blond man from before was suddenly there, holding the wolf by his scruff. He looked more annoyed that Bucky had startled the animal, less so that Bucky was terrified of it.

"Easy Hawkeye," he said softly to the wolf and it padded away to a corner of the cabin where there were some old sacks and a worn blanket in a pile and flopped down. "He won't hurt you," he said gruffly and eyed Bucky.

"It's...that's a T-Timber Wolf," Bucky said shakily, the blanket of the bed pulled up to his neck, as if it would offer protection.

The man went back over to the table and picked up the bowl and cloth from before. "He is. Found him when he was a pup; he'd been abandoned in the snow. Couldn't leave him there."

Bucky glanced over to the corner; the wolf yawned and then lay on it's side with a big sigh. "He's tame?" he asked cautiously.

The man walked back over to Bucky and looked down at him. "For the most part. Still enough wolf in him when it counts. He was the one who found you, stopped you getting dragged off by the pack that had you cornered." He nodded to Bucky's heavily bandaged leg. "One of them managed to take a pretty big chunk out of you before they ran. You've had a fever, been in and out for almost four days now. Combination of the bite and the cold, I reckon. Didn't think you were going to make it but the fever broke last night. You're damned lucky."

Bucky sagged against the wall. "Bucky."

The man frowned. "What?"

"Bucky, not lucky," Bucky said with a small grin. He was exhausted but he didn't feel hot anymore.

The man grunted and handed Bucky the basin and the cloth. "Think you can do this yourself now."

Bucky gratefully ran the cloth over his face and neck. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank him," the man said, nodding at the wolf as he stirred something on the woodstove.

Bucky set the basin down on the floor and looked over to the wolf, who was watching him with wide, curious eyes. "Uh, thanks."

The blond man threw a large bone from the pot he had been stirring and it landed on the wolf's bed; he started to gnaw on it happily. The man ladled something into a tin cup and brought it over to Bucky.

"Drink this and then sleep."

Bucky sniffed the liquid. It was a simple broth. He sipped it and immediately felt better. "What's your name?"

The man was at the woodstove with his back to the room and he remained silent for a moment. "Rogers," he finally said. "Drink that and go to sleep."

Bucky wanted to ask him where they were, how far from the town but he didn't want to push it. Rogers didn't sound like he wanted Bucky here but there wasn't much he could do about that; he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. He hoped his father was alright. His mother and Becca must be frantic.

When Bucky had finished drinking, he put the cup down by the basin and lay back under the covers. "Thank you. Both of you."

Rogers said nothing.

***

Bucky didn't think he'd ever slept this much in his life, even after his family had made the perilous journey up here from Indiana. Rogers had been right about one thing: He was damned lucky. He just wished he could know if his father was back in town, wished he could let his family know that he was alive and safe.

He sat up in bed, not feeling light-headed or sick for the first time in days. He was wearing a nightshirt and he could see his clothes drying out on a chair. The cabin was empty - Rogers's rifle and the wolf were gone too. He must be out hunting. The woodstove was burning and the cabin was warm. Outside the window, all Bucky could see was white. It was still snowing but it sounded as though the blizzard had eased a little. Rogers had left a cup of water next to his bed and he drank it down in one long gulp. His stomach growled; he had barely eaten anything in days.

Bucky glanced around the cabin; it was simple but homey. Rogers liked books by the looks of it; there were animal pelts hanging against one wall, no doubt ready to take into town and sell when the weather got better. How far were they from town? He and his father had only taken one of the tracks through the woods that was a few miles outside of the boundary line, up on the high ridge where the hunting was good. He heard a noise outside and stiffened. But then the door to the cabin opened and the wolf - Hawkeye - ran in and shook the snow from his fur. Rogers followed and quickly closed the cabin door behind him, propping his rifle against it. He was holding what looked like two dead game birds. He thunked them down on the table and looked over to Bucky.

"Hungry?" he asked, shrugging off his thick coat and boots.

"Starving," Bucky admitted.

Rogers said nothing more but began to pluck the game birds and then threw more wood in the stove.

Bucky watched him clatter about with some pots and wondered if he should offer to help but he didn't think he'd be able to stand on his bad leg. He wasn't looking forward to seeing just _how_ bad the wolves had bitten him. He noticed Hawkeye watching him from across the room. The wolf was big but at the moment, he just looked like a curious dog. Bucky swallowed his fear and held his hand out over the side of the bed.

Hawkeye immediately padded over and Bucky made a fist with his hand and let the wolf sniff the tight, flat skin on top. He was nervous but Hawkeye sniffed, gave him a tentative lick and then nuzzled into Bucky's hand. Bucky carefully brought it up to the wolf's head and rubbed his ear. Hawkeye closed his eyes and chuffed. Bucky laughed a little then; he really _was_ just like a big dog. His fur was thick and slightly coarse and there was a definite scent about him, wild and musky.

Bucky looked over to Rogers and he was watching them both as he peeled some potatoes, his expression still stern.

"Don't let him jump up on the bed. He's not allowed."

Hawkeye rested his head on the bed next to Bucky and continued to let his ears be rubbed. "How old is he?" Bucky asked.

"Two years old. He's still a pup really."

"He's so big," Bucky said and scratched under Hawkeye's chin which the wolf seemed to enjoy even more and he let out a small content sigh.

Rogers threw the potatoes into a large pot and set the birds on a tray, rubbing salt into them. "He's fed well, more so than the wild wolves." He put the meat into the stove and closed the door. He rinsed his hands in the basin. "Probably be an hour or so."

Bucky nodded. "Thank you."

There was a strained silence then as Rogers sat at the table and looked down at the scratched wood. Bucky patted Hawkeye on the head and the wolf wandered over to the woodstove and lay down in front of the warmth.

"Um, so where are we? Are we close to town?" Bucky finally asked.

"No. You're a ways up the mountain trail. Town's at least half a day's walk."

Bucky spluttered. "What? How...how did I get so far up here?"

Rogers looked up, those cold blue eyes intimidating. "You tell me."

Bucky shook his head. "My father and I went hunting; we were up on Pastor's Ridge and the weather turned. It was so sudden - took us completely by surprise. We turned back and I...there was a rockslide, under the snow. I fell." Bucky remembered seeing his father reach out for him but it had been too late. "I tried to head in the direction of town...what I _thought_ was the direction of town but I got caught in a whiteout. I could barely tell up from down. And then the wolves found me. Stalked me until I was exhausted." Bucky blinked back tears. "My family must think I'm dead."

Rogers shifted at the table. "Well, there's no way we're getting anywhere near town until the spring. The pass is a death-trap this time of year."

"Is there no way we can get back to town at all? When my leg is healed?" Bucky asked, his voice shaky.

Rogers snorted. "If you want to freeze to death before you even make it three miles then be my guest. Or better yet, go out and get killed by a bear driven mad with hunger. You go whenever you feel up to it."

Bucky was stung by the bitterness in his voice. "I just - "

Rogers glared at him. "You just what? I'm telling you, _there is no way to get back to town before the spring_. I've lived up here long enough. I know. It's not bad enough that I now have to make my supplies stretch out for two?" He shoved away from the table and began to angrily poke at the boiling potatoes. 

Bucky wasn't sure what to say; he hadn't meant to get lost and he hadn't counted on being found. When Rogers had discovered him half dead in the snow, had he considered just leaving him there? Bucky didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "When my leg is healed, I'll do anything I can to help."

Rogers turned and looked pointedly at Bucky's one arm. "Like what?"

Bucky bristled. One thing he absolutely detested was people immediately assuming he couldn't do anything with just one arm. He had worked hard since the accident not to be a burden to his family. "I can hunt, I can chop wood. I can cook. I can do anything _you_ can. I'm not a..." He didn't want to say the word. People made it sound like a dirty word, something shameful. _Cripple_. He saw how people looked at the men with missing limbs or the children who couldn't walk. They were people too, like him, just trying to live. "I got on fine before and I'll pull my weight. You think I meant for this to happen? Well, I'm sorry I _inconvenienced_ you with my almost dying."

Rogers stood at the woodstove, frowning and sullen, his anger palpable in the air around him. He said nothing and turned his back on Bucky.

They didn't speak to each other again for the rest of the afternoon. Rogers took the game birds out of the stove and made a stew with them, handing Bucky a bowl and a spoon without a word. Bucky ate everything and it was good, if a little bland. But he wasn't complaining. He could feel his body using the food and knew his energy would be back in no time. Rogers ate at the table, quiet and indignant.

 _No wonder he lives alone_ , Bucky thought to himself. _Grouchy bastard_.

After they had eaten, Rogers put on his boots, threw on his coat and hat and left the cabin. He didn't say anything and he didn't take Hawkeye with him, the big wolf staring at the door forlornly after it had been slammed shut. Bucky panicked for a moment, thinking that Rogers meant to leave him but then he heard the loud, harsh sounds of wood being chopped outside. Fine, let him blow off some steam with an axe and the woodblock.

***

It was almost two hours later that Rogers came back in with a pile of damp wood to dry out by the stove. Bucky had been stewing himself for a little while, ashamed at what he would have to ask Rogers to help him with.

"I need to..." Bucky said and Rogers looked over to him, his face still in that permanent scowl. Bucky waved a hand weakly at the chamber pot. "I need to go."

Rogers got the pot without a word and walked over to the bed, hooking an arm around Bucky's waist and helping him to stand on his good leg. Bucky felt like a child. Rogers turned away while he relieved himself.

"I can empty it," Bucky said, even though he knew he couldn't, but he'd rather try and fall over in the snow with his own piss on his way to the latrine than make Rogers think he was utterly useless.

"No, you can't," Rogers said and even though his face was still twisted in bitterness, his voice was softer.

He went back outside with the chamber pot and Bucky knocked his head silently on the wall of the cabin. They couldn't go on like this all winter. He was grateful that Rogers had taken him in. Of course he was; he would be dead otherwise but he wasn't going to sit here and let Rogers think he was completely incapable of doing anything.

Rogers came back in and he was holding a large chunk of meat wrapped in brown paper. He must have a storehouse outside too. "I hope you like elk," he said gruffly. "Because apart from any small game that Hawkeye can catch, this is pretty much all we'll be eating."

It sounded like an attempt at a peace offering and Bucky would take it. "I like elk."

Rogers put the meat on the table and then washed his hands in the basin. "I need to change your dressing."

Bucky nodded but his stomach flipped. He would get to see how bad his wound was.

Rogers poured some hot water into a bowl and he gathered some gauze. "I changed it twice a day when you had the fever; if anything was going to get you, it would have been an infection from this."

He sat down at the foot of the bed and gently placed Bucky's leg on his lap. He carefully cut away the dressing. Bucky winced when he saw the wound on his calf; it was about seven inches long, the flesh practically gouged out. Black and purple bruising mottled his skin.

Rogers wiped the wound carefully. "It was a lot worse two days ago. It's healing nicely. You'll be scarred though."

"One more to add to the collection," Bucky said as the hot water stung but Rogers was right - he had been very lucky with everything.

Rogers stared down at Bucky's leg, still washing his wound carefully. "I'm no doctor and the medicines I have up here can only do so much. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"You've done more than enough," Bucky said quietly.

"So what kind of name is Bucky?" Rogers asked.

Bucky couldn't stand to look at the wound any more and looked over to where Hawkeye was sleeping by the woodstove, snoring softly. "It's from my middle name, Buchanan. Just kind of stuck. My real name is James."

Rogers didn't say anything and something flickered across his face. Bucky realized that he maybe didn't spend much time with other people and didn't really know how to talk to them. He seemed to be struggling to make conversation. As angry as he'd made Bucky earlier, he didn't want to make Rogers uncomfortable in his own home.

"So have you got a first name?"

Rogers's frown deepened again as he started to dress Bucky's wound with fresh gauze. He didn't answer for so long that Bucky had resigned himself to never knowing but then Rogers said quietly, "Steven."

Bucky smiled a little. "Good to meet you, Steven."

Rogers put Bucky's leg down carefully on the bed and got back up. He threw the used gauze into the woodstove. He emptied the basin outside and then started to cut the elk meat into steaks.

Bucky sighed; he got the feeling that was about as much talk as he would get out of Rogers today. He scooted down into the bed and decided to take a nap. He hoped that Rogers would start to talk to him a little more.

Otherwise it was going to be a _long_ winter.

***

Bucky woke up in the night thanks to the wind, the cabin dark save for the glow of the stove. Rogers was sleeping on the floor on a bedroll with a single blanket and his coat thrown over him, Hawkeye snuggled into his side. Bucky felt guilty then and the creeping sense that he was a burden that he had tried so hard to fight this past year was coming back. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his fault that this had happened, that it had been an accident, that when he was able to walk properly again he would help Rogers. He felt bad that he was cutting into what must have been a carefully arranged supply of food for one person to cover the winter months; Rogers must be worried otherwise he wouldn't have snapped at Bucky earlier that day and he didn't want to think that things could end badly for both of them. Or maybe not even both of them; who was to say that Rogers wouldn't suddenly decide to throw him out and let him freeze? But as soon as Bucky thought that, he was quick to dismiss it. As gruff and annoyed as Rogers constantly appeared, Bucky thought that he was a good man underneath it all if not just a little unaccustomed to showing it. He wondered how and why Rogers ended up on his own way out here; the town below was thriving and full of decent, hard-working people. Not too busy that everyone was in each other's business but friendly and willing to lend a hand for the good of the community. Maybe he just preferred his own company.

The weather outside still shocked Bucky a little although he hadn't expected this to be easy; the Minnesota winters were harsh, especially being as close to the Canadian boarder as they were and his own family had been carefully preparing for it. He had been excited to spend his first winter here - a new start in a new town with new opportunities for all of them. But now he just felt the beginnings of a familiar ache, the despair he had fought so hard against since losing his arm. What were his family going through right now? How would they fare without his help to pull together for the winter? Had they already accepted him dead or were they holding out hope that he was still alive? He couldn't let these thoughts plague him into hopelessness; the sooner he recovered and built his strength back up, the sooner he could pay back Rogers with hard work and make it through to the spring and go home to his family.

Bucky rolled over and held onto those thoughts.

***

The next day, the blizzard picked up again, battering the small cabin. The windows rattled and despite the woodstove burning constantly, Bucky and Rogers shivered. They ate a breakfast of oatmeal (mixed with water) and coffee (Rogers only had powdered milk but Bucky wasn't about to complain). Hawkeye was sitting on his bed, listening to the noise outside. Rogers washed the bowls and tin cups when they had finished and kept glancing agitatedly out of the window.

"Do you need to go hunting?" Bucky asked, wondering if Rogers was eager to leave the cabin for any particular reason.

Rogers shook out one of the cups and lay it on the dresser. "Not today. I need to get outside and shunt the snow from the roof otherwise the weight will get too much. This place is sturdy but the elements have a way of working against even the strongest of foundations."

"Who built this cabin?" Bucky asked.

Rogers huffed at the woodstove as he threw a few more logs inside. "I did."

Bucky had already guessed the answer but he wanted to try and keep Rogers talking for as long as possible. "By yourself?"

"Yes," Rogers answered curtly. "By myself."

"You're a talented woodsman," Bucky said and Rogers threw him a look, as if to catch Bucky in a lie or some kind of tease. He just shrugged in response.

They fell into silence again and Rogers started to pull on his boots, no doubt to go out and make a start on the roof.

"Is there anything I can do to help while you're outside?" Bucky ventured. "Peel potatoes? Darn socks?"

Rogers glanced up at him. "Socks?" His eyes fell again onto Bucky's left shoulder but Bucky took no offence at it.

"I'm very good at darning socks. In fact, I'm pretty good with sewing in general. A talent I managed to pick up when I lost my arm if you can believe that." He looked at Rogers with wide innocent eyes, almost in a challenge. It was true though - he could darn socks faster than both his mother and his sister.

Rogers appeared as though he wasn't sure what to make of that; if Bucky was joking with him or not. "My socks are fine. We're having baked potatoes later and they're tastier with the skins left on." He pulled on his coat and hat.

"Well, could I at least have something to read while you're out? My body might be healing but my brain is turning to mush."

Rogers grunted in irritation and clomped over to one of his book cases. He pulled three books out at random and handed them to Bucky.

Bucky took them and smiled. "Thank you."

Rogers just turned and walked to the door. "Come on, Hawkeye," he called and the wolf immediately leapt up after him, streaking out through the door before Rogers followed and pulled it shut behind him leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky blew out a breath. Boy, that guy was hard work. He looked at the books that Rogers had given him: Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens - Bucky had already read it but didn't mind starting it again; a book about whittling - Bucky had dabbled briefly in woodwork before he had lost his arm but it couldn't hurt to read about a skill even if he technically couldn't put the knowledge to use himself. The third book was a journal bound in leather and Bucky opened it curiously. On the inside front cover, written in a lovely flowing handwriting was: _For Steve - however you choose to use this, I know you will make it beautiful. S_.

So, Rogers had been "Steve" to someone at some point. Bucky wondered who it could have been - a family member, an old girlfriend maybe. Perhaps Rogers hadn't always been an unsociable hermit. Bucky almost felt guilty in reading any further but he was curious and if it was too personal, he would close the book, put it down and pick up one of the others instead. He flipped through the first few pages and chuffed in surprise. It was a nature journal; there were sketches and notes about trees and flowers, herbs and mushrooms. One page had a gorgeous color sketch of a Blue Jay, another of a deer drinking from a pond. The journal seemed to serve a duel purpose of being both informative of the flora and fauna of the area - Bucky recognized a lot of trees from the forest - and also slightly whimsical; a few pages had been started as practical guides for flowers or plants but had small doodles sketched into the margins. Bears on picnics and rabbits at dance parties, birds wearing top hats and dogs playing chess.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh in delight; Rogers had skill, he couldn't deny that but the happy little drawings of anthropomorphic animals didn't match the stern, quiet man who was now scraping snow off of the roof. The smile died on Bucky's lips. The man in this journal was obviously a very different man to the one outside. Bucky put the journal down and picked up Little Dorrit instead.

***

Rogers had been outside for a long while and by the time he came back into the cabin, Hawkeye proudly trotting in behind him with a hare in his mouth, his coat and hat were caked in snow. It clung to his beard too and he looked half frozen.

"How's the roof?" Bucky asked as Steve peeled off his wet gloves and warmed his hands by the stove. He put on a pot of coffee.

"Fine. Although in a couple of days it'll need clearing again. Maybe sooner."

Bucky shifted on the bed. "Thanks for the books. Um, I was very impressed with this one." He held up the leather-bound journal.

When Rogers turned to look he froze, his eyes fixed on the journal. "Where did you get that?" His voice was quiet and icy.

Bucky floundered a little. "You...you gave it to me."

Rogers stormed across to the bed and snatched the journal from Bucky. "This is private."

Bucky held his hands up. "I didn't know. I...I just looked at some of the pictures. I thought you meant to give it to me."

Rogers swallowed hard; his jaw was clenched and he looked angry, but more at himself than at Bucky. "No. This is...this isn't for anyone." He walked over to the bookcase and shoved it away onto the top shelf, out of sight. He stood with his back to Bucky for a moment and seemed to be gathering himself. He turned and went over to the woodstove, getting two cups ready for coffee. Bucky could see his hands shaking.

This wasn't good. Something had upset Rogers - the journal obviously, but Bucky wasn't entirely sure why.

"You're a fantastic artist," Bucky said softly.

Rogers stiffened a little. "Thank you." His voice was thick.

"My sister would love your work - she's an artist too. She keeps journals, has done since she was little."

Rogers poured the coffee and spooned in some sugar and powdered milk. He handed Bucky a cup and then sat at the table, his big hands wrapped around his own drink. It was hard to read his face.

"Do you still draw?" Bucky asked.

"No," Rogers answered. His hands tightened around his cup and Bucky was afraid that he'd pushed him too hard. But then Rogers surprised him a little by turning towards him, even though he was still staring down into his coffee.

"How old is your sister?"

"She's sixteen. Nine years younger than me but we've always gotten along. She's wise for her age." Bucky smiled fondly. "She can draw, she can sing; hell, she can do a million things better than I ever could but I've never had it in me to be jealous of her. Just proud."

Rogers chewed on his lip a little. "You haven't lived in town long."

Bucky shook his head. "Settled here a couple of months ago from Indiana. Work dried up and my dad heard there was a lot out here. He's a carpenter."

Rogers nodded slightly and Bucky was pleased that he seemed to be listening. He thought that maybe Rogers was trying to distract himself from the journal but he wasn't going to complain. It was nice to be able to talk.

"You married?"

Bucky laughed softly. "No. Think I lost any prospect of that when my arm went." He remembered the heated argument he had had with his mother on one of his lowest days when he said there was no chance of any woman wanting him now and how upset his mother had been. She had told him that to the right woman it wouldn't make a blind bit of difference but Bucky was convinced otherwise.

Rogers looked at Bucky's shoulder again and then he met Bucky's eyes. "How did you lose it?"

"Saw mill accident. Someone was sloppy, I was in the way." Bucky could talk about it now but it still made him feel sad. A part of him was gone that he would never get back.

Rogers was still watching him and Bucky was struck with how sad his eyes looked when they weren't filled with annoyance or anger. They were cold but it was the kind of cold that Bucky had seen many times on his journey from Indiana; the kind of coldness that came with great loss, like a part of you had been snuffed out forever.

"Have you always lived up here?" he asked Rogers.

Rogers blinked and the hardness was back on his face once more. "No. I...I lived down there. In the town."

"What happened?"

Rogers pushed away from the table and rinsed his cup. "I'm going to start cooking now."

Bucky didn't say anything else; that was more from Rogers than he expected to get. Hawkeye came over to him and sat by the bed while Bucky stroked his thick fur, all the while watching Rogers perform his tasks with the cold, mechanical air of a man trying to forget his own life.

***

Bucky's leg improved over the next few days. He was starting to get antsy being bedridden and was eager to get up and about again. His strength was back but all he could do was read as Rogers went about his daily routines. He started to tentatively test out his leg - lifting and bending and while it still ached, it was healing well and it felt good to move it.

Four days after the incident with the journal, Bucky threw the bed covers off of himself and swung his legs over the side. Rogers was skinning another hare at the table - caught by Hawkeye who was watching his every move - and he frowned at Bucky. That seemed to be the face he made the most at him.

"What are you doing?"

Bucky scratched his head. His hair was getting long. He needed a shave too; as much as the hermit look seemed to suit Rogers, it wasn't a look Bucky wanted for himself. "Can you help me up? I need to stretch my legs."

He thought Rogers was going to protest but he just nodded and washed his hands, turning quickly when Hawkeye attempted to snatch the skinned hare from the table. He pointed to Hawkeye's bed. "Get," he said sternly and the wolf immediately headed for the corner.

Steve approached the bed and put Bucky's arm over his shoulder, ready to help him to his feet. "Steady now; don't try and put all of your weight down."

Rogers eased Bucky to his feet and Bucky carefully put his weight on his bad leg, gauging to see how much he could take before it hurt too much.

"Alright," Bucky said and Hawkeye watched in confusion as the two men walked slowly around the table.

It felt so good to be out of bed; Bucky was almost delighted to be able to see the cabin from a different angle. He waved at Hawkeye when they made another round, laughing as the wolf cocked his head. Rogers was sturdy and warm against Bucky's side and he suddenly ached to hold his mother again, to pick his sister up in a bear hug, to feel his father's arm across his shoulders as they walked through the woods. He made do with the meagre contact of Rogers's arm around him.

After they had walked five circuits of the table, Bucky indicated to the bed. "I need to sit."

Rogers, who had been silent the whole time steered him back. Bucky wiped the sweat from under his nose. "Phew. That felt good."

Rogers returned to prepping the hare. "Try not to overdo it. A little a day is probably best."

"I know but the quicker I can be up and about, the quicker I can start to pull my weight. You've put your own survival on the line to help me and I want to make sure that I do my fair share of seeing us through the winter and making sure your food supply doesn't run out."

Rogers stared down at the hare. "I don't...there's enough for us both. I panicked when I first brought you here. It's been so long since I've shared anything with - " He cut himself off and clenched his jaw. He was cleaning the hare pelt vigorously and Bucky waited for him to continue but he didn't.

Bucky watched him for a moment. "Still, you saved my life and that's not something I take lightly. I'll repay you properly in time, but for now I want to be able to do _something_ , even if it is just cooking and darning socks."

"My socks are _fine_ ," Rogers muttered.

Bucky grinned. Maybe one of these days he'd get to see what Rogers looked like when he smiled. "You never know."

***

Three days later, Bucky was able to hobble about the cabin on his own. He had to steady himself on any furniture he could find but he could make it over to the woodstove and the bookcases. Hawkeye followed him around happily. Rogers had washed the clothes he had found Bucky in but his britches were tattered beyond repair. Rogers gave him a pair of his and they were warm and comfy, if a little big. It took a whole morning of arguing with Rogers to get him to show Bucky out to the latrine. He'd started to resent the chamber pot, even more so as Rogers had to constantly empty it for him and after having finally given in, Bucky bundled up in a coat and hat and his boots and stepped outside for the first time in nearly two weeks.

It was freezing, bitterly so. He looked around; Rogers had a good amount of property - there were a few small fenced off areas, no doubt where he grew his crops in the less harsh seasons and his land ran up to the tree line of the surrounding forest. Bucky could see the storehouse and a small shed that must have once housed a horse. His breath caught at the view and even though he was already shivering from the cold, he had to stop and look. They were a way up the mountain and the forest spread out below and away from them in a pale green sea. The evergreens were covered in snow but the occasional hint of color could still be seen and Bucky could just make out the river way down in the valley. It looked like it was still moving but he could see huge chunks of ice bobbing along. This must be stunning in the summer and he envied Rogers having all of this to himself.

"If you stand there and crap yourself, I'm not cleaning you up," Rogers barked to him and Bucky turned away from the view to follow Rogers to the latrine.

Rogers waved a hand at the door, "Paper's in there." He headed over to the woodpile, sheltered by a lean-to at the side of the cabin and started to chop some more logs to take in.

Bucky did his business and slipped on the snow a little as he walked over to Rogers afterwards, his leg aching. He winced and tried to hide it but Rogers saw and immediately jammed his axe in the woodblock with a _thock_ and took Bucky by the arm back to the cabin.

"I said not to overdo it," Rogers grumbled as they went back inside.

"Taking a dump is barely overdoing it," Bucky retorted. "And I just thought I could bring some wood in. In the grand scheme of things, that can hardly be called _overdoing it_."

Rogers sighed heavily and scrubbed at his beard. "I think I liked you better when you were unconscious."

Bucky smiled brightly. "But I'm much more fun like this."

"I think our definitions of fun vary wildly," Rogers said and made to go outside, whistling at Hawkeye to follow. He stopped before he opened the door. "If you want to cook us dinner, see what you can do with some ground elk, potatoes and carrots."

He closed the door behind him, leaving Bucky happily to his cooking devices.

***

As well as chopping wood, Rogers had some more chores to do outside so Bucky had the cabin to himself for a little while as he attempted to cook some kind of hash. Rogers had stock cubes and some dried herbs and Bucky hummed happily to himself as he made the meal. He often helped his mother out with the cooking and enjoyed it a lot. It had taken him a while to figure out how to do things all over again with one arm, but he had his own system of doing things, figuring out a way of accomplishing almost anything because he wanted to be as independent as he could.

Bucky finished up the hash and slid it into the stove and set a pot of coffee to boil so Rogers could have something hot when he came in. As he waited, he wandered over to one of the bookcases to see if he could find something else to read; he was getting through a good amount of Rogers's books. He glanced up to the top shelf and the journal but he wasn't going to look at it again.

Bucky picked up a book on traps and snares and his eyes fell on something he'd seen about the cabin; Rogers often had it on him and would put it down either on the dresser or the bookcase when he was indoors. Bucky thought it was a cigarette case; it was silver, but scuffed and a little tarnished. He picked it up and looked at it, weighing it in his palm; he'd never seen Rogers smoke so maybe it just had sentimental value to him. Bucky opened it and it wasn't a cigarette case - it was a small photograph case. When Bucky looked at the two photographs inside, his heart sank. Everything about Rogers suddenly made sense.

There was a pretty blond woman with intelligent eyes in one picture; in the other was a happy baby with a huge gummy smile - a boy - maybe a little over a year old. Rogers's family. Bucky looked at the pictures for a few moments before he closed the photo case sadly and put it back exactly where he had found it. He stared around at the small space, the sparse items of furniture and the few things that Rogers owned. He thought that maybe this hadn't originally meant to be a small, one room cabin for a lonely young man. Maybe there had been plans for a large house to be built where a family could grow and live and love each other. But something had happened and they had died and Rogers had isolated himself up here on the mountain, locked inside his own grief.

Bucky took the coffee pot off of the stove and looked out of the cabin window. Rogers was standing in the exact spot where Bucky had been earlier, looking down out over the valley; a lonely figure in a vast wilderness.

***

The hash had gone down well, or as well as Rogers was willing to show. He raised one eyebrow and gave a nod and that was that. Bucky was quiet for the rest of the day, wanting to say something to Rogers about his family but then Rogers might accuse him of having snooped around while he was out and he didn't want that. So Bucky made coffee for them both and cleared up the dinner things and sat reading the trap and snare book quietly. Rogers was reading a book about farming, glancing up occasionally, no doubt suspicious as to why Bucky was so subdued - usually he talked enough for both of them. He said nothing though, either because he wasn't sure how or maybe because he was grateful for the quiet.

When it was time for bed, Bucky put the fireguard in front of the woodstove. "You take the bed; I don't mind sleeping on the floor."

Rogers had been spreading out his bedroll and peered at Bucky. "It's not a problem." He continued to lay out his blankets.

"But...I've had it for the last few weeks and I'm better now. It's your bed. You should take it," Bucky said almost desperately.

Rogers eyed him again. Bucky knew he was acting strangely but he couldn't just blurt out "I'm so sorry about your family" so he just stood and wrung his hands together instead.

"It's not a problem," Rogers said again and as if to punctuate the statement, he turned the oil lamp down and lay on his bedroll, pulling his blanket up. Hawkeye stretched out beside him.

Bucky climbed into bed and lay staring at the ceiling for a while. He wanted to reach out to Rogers but he wasn't sure if Rogers wanted to be reached.

***

"Alright, come on. What is it?" Rogers was standing over Bucky with his hands on his hips as Bucky attempted to tie a small rope snare at the table.

It was a late afternoon two days later and the atmosphere in the cabin had been a little tense. Bucky had slipped into a small funk, mainly about Rogers and his family but it had also made him think even more about his own family and how much he wanted to see them again. He felt like spring would never come and he didn't want anything to happen before he got a chance to tell them just how much he loved them. He had also been tip-toeing around Rogers, trying not to upset him in any way.

"What's what?" Bucky said, playing dumb and focusing on his knot tying.

Rogers snatched the snare away and Bucky protested loudly; he had almost tied a perfect Poacher's Knot one-handed. "You've been quiet."

Bucky shrugged. "So? I can be quiet."

"Bucky," Rogers said sharply. He rarely said Bucky's name and it sounded harsh in the small room.

Bucky sighed and scratched at the table with his fingernail. "I found your photographs," he said softly.

Rogers was silent and Bucky could already feel that this wasn't going to be good. "You went through my things?"

"I didn't mean to; I thought it was a cigarette case. I'm...I'm so sorry. About your family - "

"Don't," Rogers said and his voice was the most terrifying thing Bucky had ever heard. It was low but full of rage. "Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ pity me."

"I'm not pitying you - "

"You know nothing about me!" Rogers shouted, slamming his fists onto the table. "You come in here and you go through my journal and my private possessions and think you know me so you can feel sorry for me - "

Bucky leapt to his feet then, not quite as tall as Rogers and wobbling slightly on his bad leg. "Hey, _you_ handed me that journal - I didn't do a damned thing wrong!"

But Rogers was livid and the dam had burst. "I knew it was a mistake to bring you back here; I was doing just fine on my own. I don't need anyone in my life feeling _sorry_ for me and trying to _talk_ to me and poking through my things and judging how I live my life, especially some idiot who can't even walk through the woods without getting chased down by wolves. I don't _need_ you here. I don't _want_ you here. I should have just left you where I found you."

Bucky barked out an angry laugh. "You know what, I thought that _exact_ same thing about you a little while back but then I felt bad for thinking it because I believed you were a good man. But you know what? You're an asshole. You've spent so long up here on your mountain feeling sorry for yourself that there's nothing good left; you're just sitting here and rotting away and you won't let anyone near you because you think it's all about pity. Well screw you! I wouldn't wish what happened to you on anyone and that's not _pity_ , Rogers: It's compassion and empathy but you wouldn't know a thing about those feelings because all _you_ seem to feel is bitterness and anger and _that's_ what makes me feel sorry for you. Because no-one will ever want you and no-one even cares that you're up here!"

Bucky was shaking and he pushed Rogers out of the way; he had to get out of here before he choked the miserable son-of-a-bitch with his snare. He shoved his boots on and grabbed his hat and flung the door of the cabin open and lunged outside without even bothering to close the door behind him. Hawkeye followed him and Bucky had gone about six feet before he realized that he didn't have his coat and it was _freezing_. But he wasn't going to go back in. He tromped through the snow to the tree line and sat on a stump, just under the canopy of branches, unable to stop trembling, half from the cold, half from sheer frustration. Hawkeye sat next to him, poking his cheek with his wet nose and Bucky wrapped his arm around the wolf for comfort and warmth. He'd get neither from the man back in the cabin.

After a few moments, he heard the crunching of snow behind him but he refused to turn around. He didn't care if it was childish. But then a coat was placed gently around his shoulders.

"Please come back inside," Rogers said and his voice was soft and sad and...resigned. Tired. Bucky had never heard him sound so vulnerable and that's what got to him.

He turned and looked up at Rogers, surprised to see that his eyes were slightly red. "It'll be dark soon. We don't want to be out here."

Bucky nodded and got to his feet and they walked back to the cabin together. Hawkeye didn't seem to know what was going on, looking between the two men anxiously. Bucky watched Rogers as they walked; he was staring straight ahead, his eyes glistening and Bucky didn't have it in him to feel angry anymore.

Rogers closed the door to the cabin when they were both inside and sat Bucky in the chair at the table closest to the woodstove. He took the coat he had put around Bucky's shoulders away and replaced it with one of the blankets off of the bed. Bucky watched in silence as Rogers rummaged in the dresser and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured them each a shot and sat, staring at something Bucky couldn't see. Bucky sipped his whiskey, enjoying the brief fiery warmth of it. Rogers shifted and reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out the silver photo case. He opened it and Bucky saw his face flash in hurt.

"Sharon was my sweetheart. We met when we were fifteen and got married at nineteen. I was so happy; we were living in a small house down in the town but we knew we wanted to live up here on the mountain. We found this land, got the property deeds and started to plan out our farm. We knew it would be hard, especially in the winter but we wanted to live up here so badly. Joseph was born and everything was...perfect." Rogers's face crumpled a little and he stroked a finger over the picture of the little boy. "He was such a happy baby." Rogers took a breath and a sip of whiskey. "Then the 'flu hit town. A lot of people died. One minute Sharon and Joseph were fine and the next, I was burying them in the churchyard. I couldn't stay in town after that. I packed my things and came up here and didn't look back. I built this cabin, I grow my own food and hunt and only go into town when I need certain supplies. I've been up here for five years. The people in town know better than to come up. I found Hawkeye and raised him and I thought that was all I needed."

Rogers's breath caught and he made a small, choked noise that broke Bucky's heart. Underneath his brash exterior, Rogers was just a man who had lost everything dear to him and struggled with it day by day.

Bucky took a chance and put his hand over Rogers's and squeezed. Rogers flinched but didn't pull away and then the tears came. He put his other hand over his eyes and started to sob. Bucky scooted around the table in his chair and put his arm across Rogers's shoulder. He immediately leaned against Bucky and continued to cry.

"It's alright," Bucky said gently and rubbed his hand up and down Rogers's arm.

"I'm sorry," Rogers choked out through his tears. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"Me too," Bucky said. "I didn't mean it."

"But it was all true. Every word."

"Not every word. I care that you're up here, Rogers."

Rogers raised his head and met Bucky's eyes. "Please call me Steve. It's...it's been so long since anyone called me Steve."

Bucky managed a little smile. "Alright Steve."

Steve wiped his eyes and pulled away. "Thank you."

Bucky stood up and started to put together a simple soup for dinner. Steve made to move and help but Bucky pushed him back down in his chair. He let out a large shuddering sigh and finished his whiskey.

It had grown dark outside already and Bucky lit the oil lamp. They didn't speak but they didn't have to; it wasn't uncomfortable. Bucky cooked and occasionally glanced at Steve, sitting hunched at the table. He looked more relaxed than he usually did and Bucky wondered how long he had been holding all of that in. Up here alone he must have just bottled it all away, ignoring his grief rather than giving into it.

Bucky turned back to the soup, stirring it slowly. "I lost two brothers."

He heard Steve shuffle around in his chair to face him. "Really?" he asked.

Bucky nodded. "Both before Becca - my sister - was born. Danny got knocked down by a horse and Frankie just died in his sleep. I've never been married or had my own child...but I understand loss."

Steve didn't say anything but he nodded, his eyes soft with understanding. Bucky served up the soup and they ate in silence. Hawkeye seemed to sense that things were melancholy and rested his head on Steve's lap. Steve didn't push him away, just stroked his head with one hand and ate his soup with the other.

When they were finished, Bucky washed the dinner things. Steve looked very tired.

"You take the bed," Bucky said and started to lay out Steve's bedroll for himself.

"It's fine, I don't - "

"Steve, take the goddamned bed," Bucky said again with a small grin. "Stop being so stubborn and take the bed."

To his surprise, Steve didn't try to argue anymore. He got up and changed into his night shirt, folding his clothes and laying them over the back of one of the chairs. Bucky turned the oil lamp off and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor. He jumped when something pressed to his side, but it was just Hawkeye. The wolf lay down next to him and Bucky snuggled closer. He waited until he heard Steve's breathing even out before he fell asleep himself.

***

Bucky awoke at dawn, his back aching slightly from the floor. He rolled over and looked towards the bed; Steve was still sleeping. Bucky got up and dressed. He washed his face and threw some more logs on the woodstove before he started to peel some potatoes. Hawkeye yawned and stretched and then flopped straight back down in front of the stove as it crackled with warmth.

Bucky had been worried this morning that Steve would wake up embarrassed from yesterday's confrontation and perhaps just ignore what had happened but he was attempting to grate the potatoes to make into hash browns when he heard a hesitant, "Good morning," from the bed.

He turned around and Steve was sitting on the side of the bed, scratching at his beard. He glanced up at Bucky, as if he was worried that Bucky might be angry or embarrassed himself.

"Think you could help me grate these potatoes? I didn't really think it through too well when I started."

Steve nodded and quickly dressed before joining Bucky at the dresser. He started to grate the potatoes while Bucky put on a pot of coffee.

"Thank you, Bucky," Steve said quietly. "For listening yesterday. You were right - I have spent too long up here on my own. Since losing Sharon and Joseph, I just cut myself off from everybody and everything and...that was a mistake."

Bucky took the grated potatoes and started to press them into patties. "We all have our own way of dealing with things."

"I know, but my way hasn't done me any favors. I'm not good with people anymore and I just..." He looked out of the window and his brow knitted as he tried to articulate what he wanted to say. Bucky wasn't expecting him to suddenly know how to act or be able to verbalize all the right things.

"It's alright, Steve. I know what you're trying to say."

Steve nodded gratefully and made them each a cup of coffee. Bucky fried up the hash browns and they sat at the table and ate together.

"Want to hear a funny story?" Bucky asked.

Steve swallowed his mouthful of breakfast and eyed Bucky uncertainly. "Sure."

"Back in Indiana, when jobs were getting scarce and we were doing all we could to make ends meet, me and my father would go hunting at night for possums and raccoons. Not the kind of meat I would recommend trying to live on but it did us in a bind when things were tough." He took a sip of coffee.

Steve was listening with interest and Bucky hoped that this story would have the effect he wanted it to.

"So anyway, we're out one night and we'd found a few stringy possums and it was getting late. I was about ready to call it quits when I see this huge raccoon in the bushes. I mean, this guy would have done us for three days he was that big. So I get my snare stick and my sack ready and I creep up on this raccoon, ready to spring...except it wasn't a raccoon."

Steve raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bucky to go on. "What was it?"

"A skunk. Now, I just saw black and white and assumed it was a raccoon. It definitely was not. My father said he thought I was being killed the way I was screaming. He came running to where I was and immediately ran back in the opposite direction."

"You got sprayed?"

Bucky screwed up his face. "Yep. I had to burn my clothes right there and walk back home naked."

And there it was - the tiniest of smiles quirked on Steve's lips. Bucky tried not to get too excited and carried on.

"My father made me walk ten feet behind him and even then he could still smell me. My family wouldn't let me in the house and I had to spent most of the night being scrubbed with a horsehair brush out in the yard. Did wonders for my masculinity."

Steve brought a hand to his mouth but Bucky saw the smile widen.

"You know that's the first time I've seen you smile?"

As if getting Steve to smile wasn't enough he turned a little pink too. "Haven't had much cause to smile as of late," he said and hastily started to tidy away the breakfast things.

"Well, I hope you do it more often."

Steve turned to look at Bucky again and shook his head but the little smile remained on his face.

Bucky smirked into his coffee. "So what do we need to do today?"

***

In the days that followed, it was almost like Steve was becoming a new person. He started to talk more, initiating conversations, telling stories about his childhood. He found a deck of cards and they played Blackjack for matchsticks. He could still lapse into periods of silence but Bucky didn't care; Steve was actually pleasant to be around. He was more playful with Hawkeye and the wolf couldn't get enough of it as Steve threw a stick for him in the snow and he bounded after it. Bucky just watched them, huddled in his coat and hat, happier than he had been for weeks. He could walk further now and they made short hunting trips into the woods; not too far as Bucky's leg was still prone to seize up and ache. The wolf bites had done some severe muscle damage and he didn't think his leg would be right again but he was alive.

One afternoon when they returned from one of their hunts with a large wild turkey, Bucky's eyes wandered to Steve's journal on the top shelf of the bookcase. "You should draw again," he said, almost without thinking.

Steve didn't stop plucking the turkey at the table, shoving the feathers into a sack handful by handful so they wouldn't end up all over the cabin. "I don't know if I could anymore."

"That's a shame. Those little pictures of the animals in hats dancing were really good."

Steve sighed. "I wanted to draw books for children. But when Sharon and Joseph died, it just...left me."

Bucky didn't push the subject, just gave Steve's shoulder a squeeze and got a sad smile in return; he was pleased that Steve could talk more openly about his family now but he didn't want to cause him any more hurt. "Can I do anything useful?"

"Maybe try and think of a different way to cook the potatoes?"

Bucky groaned and eased himself up from the table. "We've had mashed, boiled, baked, fried, roasted, diced. I think we've exhausted every possible method of potato cooking. Can you _poach_ potatoes?"

Steve laughed; he had a great laugh. It made him look younger when he laughed; Bucky knew he wasn't that far off in age from himself but his beard, coupled with the sombre manner in which he'd held himself for so long had made him seem older. But now he was starting to act more like the young man he was and it made Bucky happy to think that he had helped to bring Steve out of his shell a little.

"I think poached potatoes are just boiled potatoes," Steve said, still chuckling.

Bucky picked up a stray turkey feather from the table and tucked it behind his ear. "Then you choose. I'll cook 'em however you want 'em."

Steve smiled again and shoved more feathers into the sack. "In that case, roasted please."

Bucky bowed to him. "Coming right up."

***

The weather on the mountain had turned bitter and frigid and some days, Bucky could hardly move his leg. His muscles would lock in the cold and it was like having a permanent charley horse. This was one such day and he had been grouchy and irritated all morning. Steve had attempted to offer help but Bucky had just sat in a sulk at the table with a book and Steve had headed out with Hawkeye to hunt.

Bucky scratched his face; he had more of a beard than he'd ever had in his life and now it was really starting to get on his nerves. He put down his book and hunted through the dresser for the straight razor he knew he'd seen in there. He set a pan of water to boil on the stove and found some soap.

He always remained clean-shaven at home; he couldn't stand the prickly, itchy sensation of his facial hair growing and his mother and Becca would constantly tease him about how often he shaved and how he would unconsciously stroke his smooth face for hours after. He couldn't wait to see them again but he couldn't deny that he was kind of getting used to life up here on the mountain with Steve. He lived a simple life, if not a lonely one, but Bucky found some satisfaction in that; living off the land and nature as much as you could. Steve was respectful of it too though - he never shot young birds or animals and he always treated the creatures he killed for food with respect. It was a strange little quirk that Bucky found very endearing.

The pot on the stove started to heat and Bucky soaped up his face, working up as much of a lather as he could. Shaving had become more difficult since losing his left arm and Becca often helped him out with the trickier parts. Steve had a small mirror on one of his bookcases and Bucky propped it up on the table as he began to shave.

He had just nicked himself for the third time and was letting loose a string of colorful swear words when Steve walked through the door with Hawkeye and a couple of hares. Bucky was thankful - elk meat was fine but it got very boring very quickly.

Bucky threw the razor down on the table. "I knew I should have waited until I was in a better mood to try and shave."

Steve shrugged off his coat and patted Hawkeye on the head. "Need a hand?" He saw Bucky's slightly embarrassed look and offered a little smile. "It's no trouble."

"Thanks," Bucky mumbled. There were some things he needed help with and he was still too proud to ask for it most of the time.

Steve walked across to the woodstove to warm his hands first and then pulled around a chair and sat in front of Bucky. He lathered up some more soap and rubbed it on Bucky's face, then tilted his jaw to the side.

"Keep still; I don't want to hit a vein and end up having to skin and cook you for dinner."

"Oh, ha ha," Bucky said but he tried not to smile.

Steve drew the razor up his jaw in a smooth, satisfying motion and Bucky already felt better. He watched as Steve's brow furrowed in concentration as he rinsed the razor and drew again. He held Bucky's face in place with his other hand and although Bucky could feel the calluses on his fingers from all of the wood he chopped, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Steve tilted Bucky's head the other way and started on the other side.

Bucky glanced at Steve's face; this close, he could see light freckles across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. His eyes were very blue - like the sky on the first nice day of spring. He must cut his own hair because although it was short and neat, there were a few stray strands that were too long. The color of it reminded Bucky of the corn fields they had lived near in Indiana. The feel of Steve's hand gently pressing against his neck to move him again made something draw up tight in his chest then and he swallowed hard.

"Did I hurt you?" Steve asked and he stopped shaving, his face concerned.

Bucky shook his head. "No, it's nothing. Sorry."

Steve nodded. "Nearly done." He carefully shaved under Bucky's chin and along his throat. "All finished." He smiled and handed Bucky a cloth.

Bucky wiped the remaining soap from his face and sighed in relief. "That feels so much better. Thank you."

He realized that Steve was still watching him and he felt that strange knot in his chest again. Steve seemed to catch himself and smiled before getting up and putting the chair back.

"Um, I was going to stew these hares. Is that alright?"

Bucky started to clear the table. "Stew sounds good. I might just go outside for some air. Play with Hawkeye for a bit." He needed to clear his head. He told himself it was because he'd been cooped up inside all day but that wasn't the truth.

"I think he'd like that," Steve said.

Bucky put on his coat and boots and welcomed the freezing air against his face when he stepped outside.

***

Steve insisted that Bucky have the bed that night because of his leg. He lay staring up at the ceiling, his head a churning mess. He had been trying to shake the feeling that had come over him earlier when Steve had helped him shave but it was still there, nestled in his chest, warm but terrifying. He wasn't sure what to do. Another thought had been turning itself over and over in his mind, the thought that he had convinced himself that he would never marry because what woman would choose a man with one arm over a man with two?

The more he pondered it, the less he thought that his arm had anything to do with it.

***

They settled into a routine together and Bucky was content; it was hard work living so far from town and being almost self-sufficient but Steve seemed to thrive on it and enjoyed having Bucky around to share it with. Bucky was finding it harder to think of this man as the same one who had found him in the snow all that time ago. He was no longer sullen and introverted but engaging and pleasant. He was still prone to long silences sometimes but they seemed to be more thoughtful now.

The weather finally broke and they awoke one morning to a dazzling blue sky. Bucky had to shield his eyes when he looked out of the window because it was so bright, the sunlight reflecting off of the snow.

"Let's go for a walk in the woods," Steve said happily around his cup of coffee.

After breakfast they bundled up and left the cabin. Steve brought his rifle but mainly because he was concerned about bears who may have been drawn out by the nice weather too. The three of them headed north of the cabin; the woods were less dense up there and Bucky knew that Steve was still mindful of his leg. Hawkeye bounded ahead of them into the trees.

"Do you ever worry that Hawkeye might find other wolves and want to join a pack again?" Bucky asked when they were in the forest, shaded from the sun. They walked with no purpose but to enjoy the crisp air, no longer thick with ice crystals and moisture. Their boots made a satisfying _scrunch_ against the ground with each step.

Steve nodded. "Sometimes. He's still a wild animal at heart and what kind of man would I be to hold him against his will? I would miss him a lot if he did but...I was alone before, I can be alone again."

Bucky's heart twisted. He didn't want to think about what would become of Steve when he returned to his family. "You don't have to be alone you know," he said softly. "Not any more."

Steve turned to him and Bucky saw longing flash across Steve's face, just fleeting but it was there before he faced ahead again, looking off into the trees. "I don't think I know how not to be."

Bucky suddenly couldn't stand the thought and he desperately wanted to reach out and hold Steve, to pull him close and let him know that he cared, that no matter what happened next, he wouldn't let Steve be alone again. But then Hawkeye ran out of the trees up to them, his rump shaking happily and Steve leaned down to stroke him, smiling.

Bucky watched them and then they all carried on walking in silence.

***

When they got back to the cabin a little later, Bucky indicated to the woodpile. "I'll chop some wood for the stove. Think we're running a little low."

He had been expecting Steve to protest and do it himself, but he nodded gratefully. "Thanks. It'll give me a chance to do some things around the cabin. I'll bring you out some coffee in a bit."

He headed back inside while Hawkeye stayed outside with Bucky, sniffing around the old horse shed and growling at the occasional noise of a hare or a game bird in the forest. Bucky got into a rhythm of chopping the wood; it was harder going with just one arm and more time consuming but he started to enjoy the sweat he was working up. It felt good to do something strenuous.

He didn't know how long he'd been cutting for when he heard the cabin door open and close and he heard Steve's boots on the snow. "Ready for that coffee?"

Bucky had been bending down to pick up the split wood to throw on the pile and wiped his forehead before straightening up. "Thanks, that would be - " He stopped short when he looked up at Steve.

He had shaved off his beard. Bucky blinked. He looked so different. He had a small apprehensive smile on his face and his eyes were bright and a little sheepish. Hawkeye had come running over when Steve had stepped outside and was prancing about by his feet, excited and maybe a little confused.

"You...you shaved your beard," was all Bucky could manage, his heart starting to thump in his chest and not from the exertion of chopping wood.

Steve stepped forward and handed Bucky the cup of coffee. "Yeah, I figured it was time for a change." He rubbed a hand across his cheek and Bucky was a little scared to realize that he wanted to do the same. "Feels strange. I can't stop touching my face." He smiled and it dazzled Bucky almost as much as the sun on the snow.

"You look younger," Bucky said softly. "It suits you."

Steve was watching him, his expression hard to read. "Thank you." He pointed to Bucky's head. "I can cut your hair for you if you like."

Bucky ran a hand through his hair; it was down to his jaw now, longer than it had ever been. "I think I might keep it like this for a while."

Steve smiled again then but it seemed a little anxious. Bucky didn't want to read too much into that. "I've got us a treat for dinner. Been saving it all winter in the storehouse."

"You been holding out on me, Rogers?" Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow and the mood was light again.

Steve chuckled and picked up some of the chopped wood. "You've done a good job. Are you coming back in?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute," Bucky took another sip of his rapidly cooling coffee and pointed to the last few logs he had put aside to cut. "I'll just do these and I'll be right there."

Steve called to Hawkeye and they both disappeared around the side of the cabin. When Bucky heard the door close, he sank on wobbly legs, sitting on the woodblock beside the axe. He wiped his face with his gloved hand. He knew then. He knew for sure.

He was falling in love with Steve.

***

"Bacon?!" Bucky said with wide eyes when he finally went back inside. The smell hit him as he walked through the cabin door. "You have bacon!"

Steve laughed; two huge slabs of bacon were sizzling in the pan on the woodstove. "Yeah, I have bacon."

Bucky shook off his coat and practically jumped out of his boots. "Oh, dear lord. I've missed bacon so much."

 Steve cut off a small piece and handed it to him. "You've been a good boy - here you go."

Bucky didn't bother to cool it down before he shoved it into his mouth, not even caring when it burnt his tongue and his eyes watered. "I love bacon," he groaned.

Steve just shook his head and grinned.

***

That evening they sat at the table and played Pinochle with a glass of whiskey each. It was quiet and comfortable and Bucky was starting to get delightfully drowsy in the warmth of the cabin. He had been deciding on his hand when he glanced up at Steve; he was watching Bucky with a small smile on his face and looked back down at his cards, slightly embarrassed.

"What?" Bucky asked with a grin.

Steve shook his head. "Nothing. You just...you look happy."

That feeling of warmth, unrelated to the whiskey or the woodstove, spread throughout Bucky again and for a moment he couldn't answer. Steve looked soft and content in the lamp glow and Bucky wanted to touch him, to stroke his hair or feel his hand in his. He was already taking too long to answer, looking at Steve instead and he feared he had given himself away. But if Steve thought any differently, he didn't show it. He just continued to look at Bucky with gentle eyes.

"I am happy," he said quietly and he meant it.

They finished their game and whiskey and got ready for bed. Steve set up his bedroll and Bucky was too drowsy to argue with him about sleeping on the floor. They said goodnight and turned the oil lamp off but Bucky lay awake for a long time, his mind suddenly racing. He could tell by Steve's breathing that he was awake for a long time too. He wondered if they were thinking about the same thing.

***

The weather remained glorious for the next couple of days and while Bucky was rinsing out the coffee cups one morning, Steve pointed out of the window.

"Look," he said.

Bucky followed his finger but he couldn't see anything; just the snow covering Steve's property leading to the tree line. "What? I don't see anything."

But then Bucky saw it: Several steady drips from the roof of the cabin just under the top of the window.

"The snow is melting. You'll be able to leave soon." Steve smiled at him but there was something flat about the tone of his voice.

"That's...that's good," Bucky replied and smiled back, putting the cups on the dresser but he found that his voice sounded just as flat.

***

It seemed to happen quickly after that; the snow began to thaw day after day. Huge chunks slipped from the roof. There were constant sounds from the forest where snow was melting on the trees, falling from the branches and making Hawkeye race into the thickets, thinking that there were hares and birds everywhere only to come trotting back out of the trees moments later empty mouthed and confused.

Steve and Bucky carried on with their routines but now they both knew that their time together was truly limited. They always seemed to be on the verge of saying something to each other but never did. Bucky's mind was in a constant loop of confusion; sometimes he thought that maybe, just maybe, Steve might feel the same way about him - he would catch Steve looking away quickly from him when he had been doing chores, Steve's shoulder would brush his when they moved around the cabin where there was more than enough room for them not to. But then Steve would become quiet and withdrawn again, excusing himself to take Hawkeye into the woods to hunt. Bucky tried to not think too much of it; that was just Steve's way. He had changed a lot during Bucky's time here but he still liked to be alone sometimes. With the thaw though, he seemed to be doing it a lot more.

Soon, patches of green started to appear, in the forest and on the ground. Steve started to clear the snow from his gardens, hoping to help the soil along so it would be ready for planting. He did this on his own in silence for the most part and Bucky watched him from the cabin.

He had never been in love before; he had had interest back in Indiana from girls his age before he lost his arm and while he was polite and charming, he never took the flirting any further. His parents were easy to fool - he just worked hard to help the family and he thought that they assumed he would eventually find a nice girl when they were in a better financial position. Becca didn't seem fooled at all though and Bucky thought she knew that maybe he wasn't as interested in girls as he pretended to be.

But this wasn't pretending; Bucky knew this was how you were supposed to feel when you were in love. He wanted to be with Steve in every way; he felt more alive when he was with him. Steve was quiet and hardworking but he could be fun and loud when he wanted to be. He was thoughtful and generous. Bucky would be dead if it wasn't for Steve but how he felt about him had nothing to do with that. He wanted to live on this mountain with the man who had lost everything and tried to hide himself away from the world but was starting to find himself again.

Bucky knew this could never be, though. He needed to return to his family and get a job. Living with another man in the middle of nowhere wasn't something that was done. Besides, this could all be completely one-sided on his part. Maybe Steve liked having him here but maybe he was also waiting until Bucky left so he could get back on with the life he had chosen for himself. Bucky knew he could never bring himself to ask.

***

Steve was out in the yard, trying to till the soil a little. It was still rock hard but he had told Bucky that he liked to get a head start if he could. Bucky made some coffee and put on his coat. As lovely as the sunshine was, it was still cold and his breath plumed as he left the cabin with the cups held precariously in his one hand. Hawkeye trotted up to him and pranced along beside him. He seemed happier in the nice weather too. Steve looked up and stopped tilling when Bucky approached and took one of the cups from him.

"Thanks," he said.

They both stood and looked out down the mountain into the valley. The river was sparkling below and all of the large chunks of ice seemed to have melted.

"I think you'll be able to get back into town next week," Steve finally said into the silence. His voice was quiet.

Bucky just nodded.

"It's about half a day's hike. We'll leave at dawn. The trail might be a bit rough; I have no idea what damage it might have taken during the winter but without the snow, it shouldn't be too hard going."

"We'll be alright," Bucky said but his voice sounded strained.

Steve turned to look at him then, his eyes desperate and Bucky's heart tightened because he thought that Steve maybe felt the same. He knew his own eyes held the same despondency but what could they possibly say to each other? He forced himself to smile.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For everything."

Steve swallowed and turned away to look back out down into the valley. He didn't say anything else.

***

And then it was time for Bucky to leave. They packed a bag each with food and water and Steve cleaned and loaded his rifle. Bucky didn't have anything else to pack; all he had were the clothes he had been wearing the day he had gotten lost in the blizzard and he wore more of Steve's clothes now. The night before they were due to walk the trail, they ate a dinner of roasted wild turkey and potatoes. It felt solemn. Steve had been very quiet for the last few days, almost settling back into his loneliness before Bucky was even gone. Bucky wasn't much better though; he was finding it hard to remain upbeat. He felt guilty; he couldn't wait to see his family and hold them again but...he wanted to stay here. But Steve didn't ask him so Bucky left it at that.

Neither of them really slept that night.

***

They set off at daybreak the next morning; it was freezing but the sky was clear, some stars still twinkling high above them. They headed west of the cabin into the woods; Bucky took one last lingering look back at the place that had been his home. He would miss it's simplicity. He knew he would miss the man who lived there more. He turned and followed Steve and Hawkeye into the forest.

The trail was dense but not as bad as Steve had feared; there were a couple of deadfalls that they had to skirt around - Steve told Bucky that he would spend a few days cutting and clearing them - but nothing that slowed them down. The mountain pass was clear save for a few small rock slides and as Bucky looked over the edge to the river below, he could now see why attempting this in the dead of winter would have been foolish.

They stopped for lunch after a few hours; Bucky had insisted they cover as much ground as possible, wanting to take advantage of his leg while it was a good day. They sat quietly and occasionally glanced at each other, still unable to say anything. They finished eating and set off again.

***

A few hours later, they came to the ridge where Bucky and his father had gone hunting that day and Bucky knew they were close. Sure enough, after a few miles, there was the town below them. It was strange; Bucky felt like he had been away for years. The forest started to thin out and the trails became more pronounced. The forest soon opened and there was the main gravel road into town. It was only a mile from here.

Bucky started to walk but stopped after several feet and turned around. Steve wasn't following him. He stood near the trail head with Hawkeye at his side, looking lost.

"Steve? Aren't you coming?" Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head slowly. "I can't."

Bucky walked back to him. "But my family will want to thank you! The townspeople will - "

"I can't. Not yet." Steve said and his voice broke. He swallowed hard and looked away.

This was it; this was them saying goodbye. Now that Bucky was finally at this point, he didn't think he could do it.

"Will I ever see you again?" he asked, more sorrow in his voice than he thought possible. Hawkeye nuzzled into Bucky's hand and he petted the wolf softly on the head.

Steve managed a thin smile. "I hope so."

Bucky finally moved and pulled Steve to him in a hug. He wasn't sure if Steve would hug back but then he felt arms around him, tight and strong. They held each other for a long time; Bucky felt Steve bury his face into his shoulder and heard his breath hitch. All the things Bucky wanted to say to him were lodged in his throat - _please don't go, come with me, I love you_ \- but he couldn't say them.

They pulled away at last, faces close. Steve's eyes were red but Bucky knew he wouldn't let himself cry even though Bucky was probably the only person to have seen Steve vulnerable and raw for the last five years.

"Goodbye Steve."

Steve's eyes were the saddest thing Bucky had ever seen. "Goodbye Bucky."

Bucky turned away and started to walk towards town. He looked back and Steve was still at the trail head, Hawkeye at his side, alone again. It almost broke Bucky to leave him. He continued walking, the first few buildings of the township coming into view.

When he looked back to the trail head, Steve was gone.

***

Peter Parker was the first person to see Bucky; he came out of the grocery store and did a double take that was almost amusing. Peter worked at the town newspaper and Bucky had met and become friends with him not long after he arrived in town. They had gone for drinks at the tavern a few times a week to talk and play cards.

"Bucky? Holy...holy _shit_ , Bucky?"

Bucky smiled. "Hi Pete."

Peter almost dropped his groceries, flustered and shocked. "We...we thought you were..." He laughed then and did drop his groceries, lunging forward to pull Bucky into a tight hug full of back slaps. "Oh my god! It's so good to see you! What happened? Where have you been?"

"I got lost on the mountain in a blizzard. Nearly died but...Steve Rogers found me and took me in."

Peter blinked, his eyes wide as his spectacles slipped down his nose. "Steve Rogers?"

Bucky grinned sadly. "Yeah."

Peter seemed to gather himself. "Oh lord, Bucky - your father. He'll be...he'll..." He turned away and shouted to a man on the other side of the street. "Mr Coulson! Please, run and fetch George Barnes and tell him his son is alive! His son is here!"

The man looked confused - Bucky didn't recognize him - but hurried off, evidently picking up on the fact that the news was urgent.

"My father..." Bucky began.

Peter nodded vigorously. "Everyone told him that you would surely be dead, that it was foolish to hope but he never gave up. He was organizing a search party for you to head out next week but...you're here!"

Bucky was about to answer but over Peter's shoulder he saw Mr Coulson with his father hurrying down the street. His father burst into tears when he saw Bucky and broke into a run. Bucky dropped his pack and met him in a fierce embrace.

"You're alive!" his father sobbed. "I prayed so hard..."

"I'm here, Father," Bucky said through his own tears. He thought about Steve and how it was thanks to him that he was holding his father again. "I'm here."

***

Mr Barnes rushed home with Bucky, Peter calling after him that he wanted to write a story about his miraculous survival when Bucky was able, and burst through the front door of their house almost giving Mrs Barnes a heart attack. When Bucky followed him in, he almost went deaf from his mother and Becca's screams but his aching ears were forgotten as soon as they hugged him, crying and laughing. Mr Barnes's boss gave him the rest of the week off with pay - it wasn't everyday that your son, feared dead, made it back home alive and well. Bucky told them about Steve and winter up on the mountain and they could barely believe it, Mrs Barnes bursting into sobs again because of the kindness of a total stranger that allowed her son to be back with them.

"I want to be able to thank this young man," Mr Barnes said. "Didn't he come into town with you?"

Bucky shook his head. "No, he...he likes his solitude. He knows how thankful you are, believe me."

"I've heard about him," Becca said. "Kitty told me. He lost his wife and son and went to live in the forest. He comes into town every few months and doesn't speak a word to anyone. Is it true that he has a wolf?"

Bucky grinned. "Yes, it's true. He's called Hawkeye and he's a softy."

Then Mrs Barnes was rushing around, planning a huge dinner for them all, eager to tell her friends that Bucky had made it home even though the news would surely have travelled to everyone by now. Bucky revelled in the warmth of his family but couldn't stop thinking about the lonely walk that Steve would be making back up the mountain trail to his cabin once again.

That evening, when he finally made it to bed and was emptying his pack, he felt something unfamiliar wrapped up in one of Steve's shirts. It was Steve's nature journal. Bucky's face crumpled and he held it to his nose, the slight smoky smell of the cabin trapped in it's pages.

***

Bucky was big news for about a week; acquaintances and people he barely even knew came to offer their congratulations - and several pies, casseroles and angel food cakes - on his return. He realized that his family were well regarded in the town and he was happy. This is what they had been dreaming of since leaving Indiana and he was proud.

Things soon settled down again; Peter wrote a story but Bucky begged him not to feature Steve too heavily. He didn't want any of the townsfolk taking it upon themselves to invade his privacy, even if it was well meaning. Bucky was eager to get a job and earn his way again but his parents told him there was no rush, that they were doing well. Bucky earned his keep by helping his mother with the cooking for the time being, unsure of what he really wanted to do now. He felt a little lost but he didn't tell anyone that.

One afternoon, he walked over to the churchyard with a bunch of flowers. He wandered slowly up and down the rows of graves until he found it. Sharon and Joseph Rogers. Bucky wondered if Steve visited when he came back to town or if he just kept their memories with him, not wanting to remember the pain of losing them all over again. He lay the flowers beside the simple headstone and walked back home, feeling empty.

***

"Bucky? Bucky!" Becca jabbed him in the side and he flinched, almost stabbing himself with his needle.

He had been helping Becca with her sewing - she had taken some in to earn her own money - and had been hemming yet another pair of Mr Banner's trousers and his mind had wandered back up the mountain trail to the cabin and Steve.

"Sorry Becca, what did you say?" Bucky put down his needle and rubbed his eyes.

Becca watched him for a moment. "It doesn't matter. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just..." Bucky shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. I miss - " He stopped. That was too much.

Becca's face softened in understanding. "You miss Steve?"

Bucky clenched his jaw. He was close to his sister but this was something he wasn't sure even she would understand.

Becca just continued with her piping. "You know," she said breezily, "I often think that I could just as easily fall in love with a woman as I could with a man?"

Bucky _did_ stab himself then, crying out, half in pain, half in shock at his sister's declaration. "Becca! What the...I hope you haven't told anyone else that!" Thank God his father was at work and his mother was at the church hall.

Becca put her sewing down and eyed him. "What's wrong with that? Love is love; I don't think it matters who it's with." She gave him a pointed look.

Bucky sucked his finger. Damn her. She knew. "Well, I think a lot of people would say otherwise, unfortunately." He sank back in his chair. He had been so miserable these last few weeks but thought he had done well to hide it.

Becca shuffled closer. "Does he feel the same way?" she asked softly.

Bucky didn't even attempt to deflect her this time. "I don't know for sure," he said quietly.

Becca sighed and took Bucky's hand; hers were so warm and delicate. "You should find out. You're not happy, Bucky. You can fool everyone else but you can't fool me. You may as well have gotten Peter to write a story about Steve Rogers and how you feel about him to print in the paper, you're that unsubtle."

Bucky chuffed and grinned at her. "You're an ass."

"But I'm right."

"Yes, you're right." Bucky squeezed her hand. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Of course I won't. And it doesn't make a bit of difference to me who you love. It sounds like Steve has been through a lot; I can understand his reasons for not wanting to come back here, especially not now if everyone's going to treat him like a hero and he doesn't want it. But...I think he deserves another chance at happiness and so do you. You might be able to have it together."

"But how?" Bucky said, his voice choked. "You know it doesn't work like that."

Becca smiled. "So figure out a way. Go back to Steve, find out if he loves you too and just...see what happens."

Bucky smiled back at her. "I love you, you know that?"

Becca wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "Well, I _am_ brilliant."

***

Bucky made plans to head back up the mountain trail; he told his parents that he wanted to take Steve some supplies and that he might be gone for a week or two to help him with his crops - a promise he'd made to Steve before he left. That was a small lie but his parents were happy that he was so considerate. They worried about bears and wolves though and wanted someone to go up with him. Bucky convinced them that he knew enough of the woods to keep his wits about him and that he would be fine. He would take his rifle and leave in good weather.

Bucky went to see Tony Stark about hiring one of his horses to ride up the trail; it wasn't too perilous for a horse and he wouldn't be able to carry much himself. A horse would also cut the journey by half too.

"Of course," Tony said, grabbing Bucky by the arm and dragging him to his paddock. Tony was the richest man in town but he wasn't tight-fisted with it. In fact, without a lot of donations and investments from Tony, the town wouldn't have thrived as much as it had.

Tony pointed to a gorgeous chestnut mare with a white mane, chewing happily on some grass. "That's Rogue. You can take her; she's very calm but will kick the dickens out of anything that tries to attack her or her rider. I think you'll get on well."

"Thank you, Tony," Bucky said, reaching for his wallet. "How much do you charge?"

Tony waved a hand. "This one's on me. Steve was a friend of mine so anything for him." He sighed. "Losing his family destroyed him and I wish I could have done something but he left before I got the chance. I know he comes into town every so often but...some things are left too long. I don't know if they can be fixed."

"You'd be surprised," Bucky said. "Thank you again."

Tony pointed to a grey stallion. "Take Quicksilver too. For Steve. Tell him it's a gift."

***

Bucky left two mornings later at dawn. Quicksilver was loaded with enough supplies and food from several of the townspeople to last Steve through until next winter. Bucky's family came to see him off at the trail head.

"Be careful. Keep your wits about you," Mr Barnes said as Bucky finished hugging everyone and heaved himself up onto Rogue. He had tied Quicksilver's reins to the back of Rogue's saddle so hopefully the journey wouldn't be too taxing.

"I'll be fine. I know a hell of a lot more now than I did the last time I was here."

"Bucky, language," his mother scolded. "Make sure to give Steve our letter. We want him to know how much we appreciate everything he's done."

Bucky smiled. "I will." He looked down at Becca. "Stay out of trouble."

Becca smirked. "I will. Good luck, Bucky." She gave him a conspiratorial look and he grinned back.

"I'll see you in two weeks." He tapped Rogue gently with his heels and took a deep breath.

***

The trail was easy going and Bucky was thankful. For all of his bravado, he was worried. He hoped he wouldn't have to use his rifle. The horses were calm and pleasant and didn't seem to be an ounce of trouble. The weather was lovely - warm and bright - and Bucky started to relax, enjoying the sounds of the forest and being out on his own.

He stopped for some food after a couple of hours and Rogue and Quicksilver drank from a small stream and ate some grass. He saddled up again and made it through the pass, glad that there had been no more rockslides and he hadn't been slowed down.

He knew he must be getting close - one of the deadfalls he and Steve had passed by had been cut, just the gnarled old roots remaining at the side of the track. Steve had been busy. Bucky smiled and his stomach fluttered with nerves. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

After a little while, he heard some twigs snapping up ahead. He brought Rogue to a stop and climbed down, unsure of what to do. It could just be a hare or a turkey but there was a chance it could be a bear too. He didn't want to take the risk and have the horses get spooked. There was a shuffling up ahead and Rogue snorted. Bucky patted her neck and took his rifle down.

But then a familiar grey form emerged from the brush; it was Hawkeye. Bucky smiled in delight and walked towards him. Hawkeye immediately ran over to greet him.

"Hey boy, how are you? Have you been looking after Steve?"

Hawkeye tried to lick Bucky's face and then looked over at the horses curiously. Quicksilver shuffled a little but they seemed unperturbed. Bucky was relieved and took Rogue's reins, deciding to walk the rest of the way.

"Come on," he said to Hawkeye and the wolf turned and headed up the trail.

Bucky knew this part of the forest and he started to get excited when he saw the trees clearing up ahead. Hawkeye broke into a run and disappeared out of sight. Bucky led the horses out of the woods and onto Steve's land. His heart swelled when he saw the cabin; he hadn't realized just how much he had missed the place. He stopped completely with the horses when he saw Steve.

He was weeding one of the small gardens, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He hadn't heard Bucky come out of the forest and didn't seem to realize that Hawkeye was excited. Bucky suddenly felt whole again, being here. He just hoped that he hadn't come back for nothing.

"Hey, what's it take to get a little hospitality around here?" he called and Steve's head snapped up.

Bucky waved nervously, stopping a little way back with the horses. Steve stumbled to his feet and dropped the handful of weeds he'd been holding.

"Bucky?" A huge smile broke out on his face and Bucky knew he had made the right decision in coming back. Steve hurried over and Bucky stepped forward to meet him, his heart leaping into his throat when Steve hugged him tight.

"I missed you," he said into Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky inhaled the smoky wood smell of Steve's shirt. "I missed you too."

They pulled apart and Steve eyed the horses and the supplies. "What's all this?"

Bucky picked up Rogue's reins and followed Steve to the old horse shed. "Some supplies, a ton of gifts from the townspeople. They appreciate what you did for me."

Steve helped Bucky to unload the horses. "They...they really shouldn't have. I don't feel like I deserve it."

"Well, you do," Bucky said softly and Steve watched him, his blue eyes bright and apprehensive. Bucky pulled the letter from his parents out of his back pocket. "This is from my mother and father."

Steve took the letter and clutched it, his brow furrowed. Bucky knew it wasn't in anger or frustration though.

"My father wishes he could have spoken to you the day I came back to town," Bucky said and rested a hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve didn't look up. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry. I just...I can't go back there. Not yet. It's too..."

Bucky squeezed Steve's shoulder. "There are people who think a lot of you down there. You never have to worry about that."

Steve took a breath and looked back up at the horses. He patted Rogue's flank. "I bet these guys made the journey back up here easier."

Bucky smiled. "You wouldn't believe. This guy is for you." He handed Steve Quicksilver's rein.

"What?" Steve said, disbelieving.

"He's called Quicksilver and he's a gift from Tony Stark."

Steve shook his head. "Tony? But...but I haven't spoken to Tony in over five years. I thought he'd want nothing more to do with me...the way I left town..." He stroked Quicksilver's neck.

"He cares about you," Bucky said, still not quite able to say the words himself.

Steve met his eyes then. "It's good to see you."

Bucky bit his lip. "You too."

They made sure the horses were watered and went inside the cabin. Bucky felt like he was home. He leaned against the table while Steve started to make some coffee.

"I can't believe you came all the way back up here to give me a horse from Tony Stark," Steve said, trying to sound light but he sounded nervous as he measured out the coffee grounds.

Bucky worked up what little courage he had left. "You know that's not the reason I came back."

Steve stilled at the dresser. "Why did you come back?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Because I'm in love with you," Bucky said and waited.

Steve didn't move for a moment and Bucky was suddenly sure that he had made a terrible mistake, that it had all been in his head. But then Steve turned around and his face was full of hope and happiness.

"You are?"

Bucky stepped toward him and took his hand. "Very much. You're a wonderful man, Steven Rogers."

Steve smiled even wider and then his lips were on Bucky's, soft and hesitant but gaining confidence the longer they kissed, one hand on Bucky's waist and the other in his hair. Bucky didn't think anything could feel as right as this. They pulled away from each other, out of breath and smiling.

"I love you too," Steve said as he brushed Bucky's hair out of his eyes. He looked so beautiful.

Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder. "You gave me your journal."

Steve stroked Bucky's hair gently. "I wanted you to have it. To remember me by. I was so sure...you would forget me when you left."

Bucky looked up and kissed Steve again. "Never."

Steve started to cry and held Bucky tightly. "I never thought I would...that I would...find someone again..."

Bucky kissed the tears from Steve's face. "You found me. You saved me. I'm yours."

***

They lay together on the bed later that night; the oil lamp was turned off and the woodstove was burning low. Hawkeye was sleeping, snoring lightly. They both barely fit on Steve's small bed but Steve held Bucky close, their legs tangled together under the covers. Bucky was content; he could hear Steve's heartbeat, strong and steady and relished the feeling of his skin against his own.

"I'm happy," Steve said into the darkness.

Bucky kissed Steve's neck softly. "Me too."

"Can we have this though?" Steve asked quietly. His hold tightened slightly on Bucky, as if by saying that he would suddenly be ripped out of Steve's arms.

Bucky shifted so his face was level with Steve's. "I think...if we want it, we can have it." He thought about Becca and how certain she had been and he didn't feel like it was as impossible as he had feared.

"How?"

Bucky brushed his lips against Steve's. "We'll figure it out. I never want you to be alone again. We'll find a way."

Outside, the mountain was quiet. The wind was barely a breeze, occasionally rustling in the trees. The horses slept and down below in the valley, the river continued to flow. Inside the cabin, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers fell asleep together and when the sun rose the next day, they would wake up together.

 

 


End file.
